Murder on the Polar Express
by strawbr'yblond periwinkle love
Summary: Rachel's Dad insists that Santa Claus is a friend of his, and if she won't submit to his abuse, Santa will make her pay. Feeling trapped and resentful, she can't bring herself to care when Christmas Eve only brings the usual horrors. When a magical train arrives to take her to the North Pole, she comes up with a desperate plan: murder Santa before he enables anyone else's abusers.
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you for opening my story! I hope you enjoy. Just a warning- chapter two and the first half of chapter three will contain physical abuse, and the whole fic deals with triggers and unhealthy coping mechanisms _(murder is in the title, after all...)_ so please be warned. The chapters will also get longer as the story progresses, but hopefully the trigger warnings will grow fewer. Hopefully.**

* * *

 _Oh, you'd better watch out,  
_ _You'd better not cry,  
_ _Better not pout, I'm telling you why,  
_ _Santa Claus is coming to town!_

I tried to calm the panicked feelings clawing at my chest. The voice on the radio seemed so cheery; it made me sick.

Ron, best friend extrordinairre, quickly leaned over the seat to flail at the radio switch until he brushed it off. He was always in tune with my triggers, but he never made a big deal about it, for which I was grateful.

"You could have asked me to turn off the radio, Ronnie," his mom said from the driver's seat. smiling at us in the rearview mirror.

"S'ok, mom, I didn't want to bother you," Ron said. Didn't want to embarrass me, more like, but he didn't say so.

He waited until his mom was focused on the road again to hunker closer, whispering in my ear. "He's not really in league with your Dad, you know. He can't be. Santa's all about joy and love and all that jazz."

"That's not even true," I snapped back, also keeping my voice low. "He puts coal in the stockings of bad kids. That's in all the stories."

"That's just a scare tactic to get us to be good," Ron started, but then he realized what he was saying. "Raich…"

"I don't want to talk about it any more," I said, turning to look out the window. Beside me, Ron sighed.

We rode in silence until Ron's mom turned down a familiar, dingy street. I took deep breaths, trying to stay calm as we pulled up in front of my house.

"Here we are!" Ron's mom sounded too bright and cheerful compared to the dark weight in my gut.

"Thanks for the ride, Ma'am," I said, grabbing my backpack and jumping from the car as quickly as possible.

"Merry Christmas!" she called.

"Yeah, goodbye." I closed the door and headed for the house. When I looked back, Ron was peering through the window, concern on his face.

I went inside and closed the door softly. It didn't matter, though; Dad still heard me come in.

"Who was that?" he demanded. He hated when I got a ride home from school - or anything else - because it brought people close to the house. To him.

"Just a friend from school," I said. "Their mom didn't want me to walk home in this cold." I'd learned long ago to leave out any details about my friends, including gender, for fear that my dad would take exception to something. The way his brows knit told me he hadn't missed my vagueness, but he let it slide.

"How was your mother?" he asked. It was always 'your mother,' as if he'd never met her.

"Fine," I said. "She would've liked to see you, I think."

Dad grunted, a 'drop it' sound. I went to the closet to take off my coat, mind shifting back to my afternoon visit. Mom was in a mental institution, and had been for three years. She'd been crazy before that, but it wasn't until she'd OD'd on heroin (again) that they finally committed her. Since then, I only got to visit her occasionally. That's where I'd gone off to today. What I didn't tell dad was that the visit had been pretty short - it was depressing when your own mother had a younger mental age then yourself - and I'd spent the rest of the afternoon in the woods with Ron, talking about anything but Christmas.

"You don't have plans for tonight, right?" When I went into the kitchen, I noticed dad was making caramel popcorn - one of his favorite treats, which I despised; who ever thought sweet and salty together was a good idea? - and that there was egg nog on the counter. I liked egg nog the way Ron's mom made it, fresh on the stove with no liquor having ever come near it; hot, thick, sweet, and chunky with cooked egg before she strained it. Dad's store-bought junk would be filled with rum, whiskey, bourbon, or vodka, and as thin as skim milk.

"Nope." Last week, I'd been out every night. I'd told my dad I was at holiday parties, and I was, but what I didn't tell him was that I'd gone to a friends house for all eight nights of Hanukkah. Ron, sweetest of best friends, had come with me, even though he'd missed two or three Christmas parties because of it.

I could never tell my dad, of course, that Christmas parties triggered me. Not when he was the reason for the triggers.

"Good," dad said. "We can watch some christmas movies, spend some time together."

I tried not to flinch away from his words. After all, the last time we'd 'spent time together,' I'd ended up covered in welts and bruises, losing far too much blood. I'd given up telling myself that 'maybe tonight would be different' long ago. It wasn't like I couldn't see him pour extra rum into his own glass of egg nog.

It wasn't like anything had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's part 2. This is one of the two chapters that will have descriptions of abuse, so 1: trigger warning! and 2: I'm sorry if it's cringy. I don't have all that much experience with physical abuse (thankfully) so it was an imaginative experience.**

 **Also, big thank you to Hasty for following, favoriting, and reviewing!**

* * *

 _He's making a list,  
_ _And checking it twice,  
_ _Gonna find out who's naughty or nice,  
_ _Santa Claus is coming to town!_

My dad was all about Christmas music. He played it constantly. Not the classy kind, though, but the annoying stuff they have on the soft-rock station all December long. His favorite was _that_ song. He used it when he wanted to control me. It grated against my soul like a flint, threatening to burn me.

I hated Christmas music for that reason. But I did love the Chipmunks. I listened and watched them religiously whenever I could. My dad hated them, so much he'd lose it if he heard their voices when he came in the door.

That was probably why I loved them so much.

At Christmas, though, we could compromise. I hated the Christmas songs, and he hated the Chipmunks, so I put on _Christmas with the Chipmunks,_ and we were both miserable, but neither of us complained. It still felt like betrayal when I heard them singing _that_ song, though.

After a long evening of watching movies, finishing up the decorations, and watching my dad get more and more drunk, it was almost a relief when he snapped.

Almost.

He didn't like the way I'd hung a decoration, and I was stupid enough to push back. The blow landed on my shoulder, and I knew it would leave a bruise. Then, he sent me to my room to wait for more. That was when I put on the Chipmunks; an extra layer of protection.

Getting ready for bed was like putting on armor. I had a soft, loose camisole that tucked securely into the tightly cinched drawstring of long, fuzzy pants. A long-sleeved, knee-length sleep shirt went over the top. Add thick, fluffy socks and a kerchief over my hair, and you might think I was preparing to sleep in a blizzard.

Of course, the house was often frigid, since dad was on again off again remembering to pay for heat. But the real reason I wore all those layers was that somehow it made me feel safer.

I knew, of course, that what he did was wrong. I wished he would stop. Stop the drinking, the marajuana he smoked on weekends, stop the little something stronger he did on special occasions. But he was also my father. He'd taken care of me ever since mom had gone to the hospital, and he'd kept us alive several times before that, too. Ron was the only other person who knew the truth, but we were both too afraid to tell an adult. After all, maybe they wouldn't believe us. And even if they did, would my dad hurt me more? Hurt someone else?

Most of all, I still loved him in the end. I couldn't bring myself to hate him; so I hated Santa Claus instead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part the third.** **It was originally only half a chapter,** **but I realized that it would be smarter to separate the events below from any other part of the story, so I apologize for the brevity.**

 **Again, descriptions of abuse below, but after this you can expect some breathing room and other plot building excitement.**

 **Big thank you to sarakateastr1994 for following and reviewing!**

* * *

 _He sees you when you're sleeping,  
_ _He knows when you're awake,  
_ _He knows if you've been bad or good,  
_ _So be good for goodness sake!_

I heard dad singing the dreaded song long before I heard his footsteps outside my door. I hadn't been sleeping, exactly. I'd read a book cover to cover, and was laying, lost in thought.

When dad came in, he was very high. I was guessing he'd been into whatever he bought for his Christmas treat. He had a belt in his hands, and was erratically fiddling with it. I tensed, knowing what was coming.

"You disobeyed, and you defied my wishes." dad said, words slurring. "You talked back, you ignored me, and you know you're not supposed to have friends drive you all the way home. You need to be taught a lesson."

The belt came up, and he ripped the covers from me, grabbing my arm roughly to turn me over. I tried not to squirm as the beating came, a frantic flurry of blows only a little muffled by the many thick layers I wore. I knew struggling would only make it worse, but it was hard to stay still, especially when he started shouting, telling me how worthless and ungrateful I was, after all he did to care for me.

By the time he'd exhausted himself, I was beyond feeling. I numbly realized that he'd left the room after a few minutes, but didn't feel well enough to react, not even to reach for the first-aid kit hidden in my nightstand. I'd worry about it in the morning. I glanced at the clock: 10:37. I moaned internally, knowing in my heart that I couldn't let myself lie there all night, or I'd be too sore to move in the morning. I'd just close my eyes for a moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Some plot! Some action! Who knew?**

 **If anyone is actually reading this, thank you for bearing with me through the hard parts at the beginning. There won't be abuse like that from here on out- at least not for a while. (And if there _is_ anyone at all reading, maybe you'd be willing to let me know by dropping a review? even just one word...)**

* * *

 _Once a year in the middle of December  
_ _Santa Claus comes around,  
_ _With gifts and things all the kiddies he'll remember-  
_ _Visit everyone in town._

When my eyes snapped open again, it was with a jolt of adrenaline. I didn't know what had awakened me, but my hackles were up. A check of the clock told me it was 11:55. I moved carefully, pulling my knife from under my pillow in a small, fluid movement. Tucking the blade into my sleeve, I slid from the mattress, ignoring the stiff protests of my body, and crept toward the door.

The house was quiet as I padded down the hall, and when I pressed my ear to my dad's door, I could hear his faint snoring. I continued, making my way to the front of the house, and peered out the window onto the dingy street.

At first, everything seemed normal: quiet and still. Gradually, though, I became aware of a rumbling, vibrating sensation, that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Then, a queer wind whipped up, and the faint layer of grey snow and dead leaves in the road kicked into a swirling frenzy. A golden light exploded into the center of the storm, and a deafening _Tooot!_ sounded.

In the cyclone of light and motion, I couldn't tell what I was seeing at first. Then, as it began to slow and things grew clearer, I refused to believe my eyes.

A train, steaming and sparkling in it's own light, glided through the street. It slowed until it stopped, shuddering. I took in the beauty of it, my breath catching in awe, acceptance filling my stomach with a warm buzz of magic.

Unable to resist the curious draw of the thing, I pulled on my snow boots, slipping my knife down into one before quietly unbolting the door.

A man leaned from one of the cars, bellowing and waving a lantern. I squinted toward him, straining to hear his words amid the pervasive metallic groaning.

"All aboard? _All aboard!_ " I finally made out his words. Intrigued, I made my way toward him. He watched me come, gaze piercing.

"Well, are you coming?" he asked. He was dressed as an old fashioned train conductor.

"Where?" I wanted to say _yes, take me away!_ but too many years of hard knocks had taught me to be wary.

"Why, to the North Pole, of course!" The conductor's voice rose dramatically. "This _is_ the Polar Express!"

Reflexively, my eyes flicked to the engine, where sure enough the name was plated in golden letters. I hadn't taken the time to study the words before, and while that may have been an oversight on my part, there was no reason for him to make me feel stupid.

I frowned. The man didn't miss a second of it. "Don't you believe in Santa Claus?"

"Of course I do," I snapped, all my hairs standing on end at the name. My fingers instinctively twitched toward the place where I'd hidden my knife.

"It says here," the conductor said, producing a clipboard with a small cluster of paper attached, "that you've been avoiding Christmas parties all month, you hate Christmas music, and that you have been caught making rude faces at santa decorations on more than one occasion."

My senses were on alert now. He had a file on me? I was being held accountable for avoiding my triggers? Waves of nauseating dread washed over me, and I fought to keep it off my face.

"It seems that this may be your critical year," he was saying. "If I were you," he fixed me with a sharp look, "I would get on board."

I tried to think. If I ran, would he chase me? Would he hurt me? Or, worst of all, might he wake my father? I tamped down the rising panic in my chest, mind racing.

Slowly, a plan began to form in my mind. "This train really goes to the North Pole?" I asked.

"Yes!" he said, and I had to stifle a wince at his enthusiasm.

"And, when we get there, will we get to see Santa?"

"Certainly."

I inhaled. So they wanted me to take a train ride. So? Maybe I'd just do it. I'd play their little game; I'd go and see Santa. Hatred prickled inside of me when I thought the name, but I only let it fuel my determination as I breezed past the conductor and stepped onto the platform. The man watched me pass with a mixture of concern and thoughtfulness, which I ignored.

Because when I got to the North Pole, I'd finally have a chance to show Santa what an evil person he was. I'd finally have a chance to get back at someone for all the abuse I'd endured over the years. I'd finally be free of my father's biggest manipulative tool.

I was going to kill Santa Claus.


	5. Chapter 5

**Merry Christmas! Hope everyone had a wonderful, trigger-free holiday. Sorry to leave you so long without an update, but I hope this makes up for it - longest chapter yet!**

* * *

 _So boys and girls here's something to remember  
_ _Fifty-two weeks of the year;  
_ _If you're not good and if you're not tender,  
_ _Santa's sure to hear._

I made my way into the carriage, feeling the vibrations under my feet as the conductor hauled himself up behind me and waved his lantern toward the engine. My thoughts whirled as I struggled with the heavy doors. How had Santa known? Everyone said, of course, the he just _knew,_ but how? Realistically, he had to have a source. Did my dad call him? Or was there some nefarious magic going on?

My thoughts shattered when I saw a familiar head of black hair peeking over the back of one of the seats.

"Ron?" I gasped in disbelief.

My best friend spun, eyes finding me immediately. "Rachel!" He sprang up, but the conductor tisked.

"Everyone please take your seats," he scolded, offering me the seat beside my best friend with a hand flourish.

I staggered into my seat as the train jolted violently forward, perching gingerly on the edge of the bench. I wanted to avoid leaning on as many of my bruises as possible. Ron was bounced into his own place by the motion, and he leaned toward me in concern.

"Are you ok? Why did you get on?"

I took a steadying breath. "I'm going to stop it."

"Stop…" His brows creased.

"Stop Santa's reign of terror," I said. "I'm going to kill him."

Ron went pale, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he let the acceleration of the train toss him against the back of the bench.

After a moment, he whistled softly. "Wow, Raich," he murmured.

"Well, why'd _you_ get on?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"But," I frowned and broke off. Why had it come for him? I already suspected it only came for problem children. How had Ron gotten involved?

Ron let the silence draw out, then turned toward me with a sudden jerk. "I don't know, Raich, but doesn't it seem a little improbable?"

"What?" I stared at my best friend blankly.

"Santa Claus, magical elves and reindeer, _everything_ ," he said. "How can it be real? I've been giving it a lot of thought. There's no way Santa can do everything they say. And beside all that, I can't believe that some magical, arguably immortal guy exists just to enable abusers and punish kids for messing up while rewarding those who learn to keep their mouths shut."

I blinked. That was a lot to take in. Never once had I doubted the reality of Santa, despite the fact that it would have freed me from a lot of manipulation. As fast as it crossed my mind, I dismissed it.

"No," I said, shaking my head. And maybe it was because we were on a magical train, or because of the buzz of magic still inside me; probably, though, it was because I couldn't let go of the one thing I'd pinned all the blame and hatred on. Without Santa, I wouldn't be able to cope with the reality I was forced to live.

Ron bit his lip, and seemed about to say more when the train banked sharply, slamming my back against the marginally soft cushions. I gasped in pain.

Instantly, Ron was hovering, eyes full of worry. I met his gaze in spite of myself, and he saw everything.

"Not again," he whispered. He knew better than to try to touch me in comfort, so he just sank back into his seat, hands clenched.

"I wish there was something I could do," he fumed. "I want to rip him apart for this."

"Ron," I sighed. I appreciated how much he cared for me, but I hated how it affected him.

Just then, The door behind us slammed open. We whirled to see the conductor hauling a girl by the arm into the carriage.

"I _said_ that was a restricted area," the man was saying.

"I should be able to go where I please!" the girl shrilled, and I winced.

"You do not own this train," the conductor grated, losing patience. "You will stay where your ticket allows you to stay."

Ticket?

"Ticket?!" the girl screeched, and Ron groaned, clapping a hand over one ear. The annoying passenger wrenched free of the conductor's grip and darted down the isle, finding a seat in front of us. Great.

The conductor sighed, then pulled a hole punch from his pocket. "Tickets, please," he called, and started down the isle.

"Can you believe that jerk?" The girl turned around, hanging over the back of her bench to talk to us. "How dare he lay a hand on me like that? And besides, I was just having a little look around. He didn't have to go berserk like that. I should be allowed to go wherever I please."

Now, I knew firsthand the panic of having someone grab you against your will, but this girl had been asking for it. Between her annoying manner and the fact that she was trespassing, I would have lost my patience, too.

"Yeah," Ron drawled. "It's almost like he thinks we're just passengers, who belong in the passenger car, and don't have the experience to cross moving cars safely alone."

"Yeah!" The girl piped, then her eyes narrowed. "Wait…"

"Tickets, please." We were interrupted by the arrival of the conductor at our row. He chattered his hole punch impatiently.

I glanced up nervously. "But I don't have a ticket," I whispered, and Ron nodded to show that he had a similar problem.

The conductor raised a single eyebrow, and in a world-weary tone said "check your pocket."

"I haven't got a pocket," I began, but Ron was checking his. He gasped, and I looked over in time to see him pull a shimmering, golden ticket from his pajama pants pocket.

The conductor snatched it and punched dramatically. Small gold circles rained down on us as he worked at some kind of pattern. Finally, he handed the ticket back, then speared me with his gaze.

"Check your boot," he said. My fingers twitched toward the knife hidden in my right boot before I could stop them. I froze, feeling the man's eyes heavily, then reached for my left boot instead.

There, where I was sure there had been nothing before, a gilded rectangle awaited. The surface was smooth and I stared, rubbing my fingers along it.

The conductor cleared his throat impatiently, and I straightened and handed over the ticket. He flourished unnecessarily as he marked it. When he returned it and turned to the bench across from us, Ron nudged me.

"Look at this, he whispered, holding out his ticket. The pattern I'd noticed the conductor making turned out to be letters, neatly punched. On Ron's ticket, the letters read C O. Curious, I looked down at my own. The effect of the holes in the shimmering gold made the litters look almost holographic as I read "U R. What does that mean?"


	6. Chapter 6

**I felt like the end of the last chapter was lame, but this is better. Hope you enjoy!**

 **What do you think their tickets say? Comment to see if you're right:)**

 **Thanks to Shian1998 for the lovely reviews and the favorite!**

* * *

 _He'll bounce and bump, he's so doggone plump,  
_ _As he goes his merry way.  
_ _He shouts and sings for the joy he brings-  
_ _If you listen you'll hear him say_

"Lights! Lights!" a small boy cried on the other side of the car, cutting off whatever Ron had been about to say. Sure enough, we were passing through a neighborhood filled with christmas lights. We all flattened our faces against the glass, excited. Every house was bedazzled in some way, each more creative than the last. Some were nearly hidden in the sheer volume of their own decorations.

With children running every-which-way to see the lights, the conductor was momentarily thwarted in his effort to punch all the tickets. When we had passed through the street, he tisked and shooed everyone back to their seats, pacing up and down the isle, then returned to his task.

Heightened as my senses were, it didn't escape my notice that the annoying girl had managed to avoid the conductor's hole punch, but I didn't say anything.

The train, having apparently passed the outskirts of civilization, was beginning to pick up speed. The conductor arrived at the far end of the car, wiped his forehead, holstered his hole punch, and picked up the mike for the P.A. attached near the door.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Is anyone in this car in need of refreshment?" He waggled his eyebrows, and a chorus of "Yes!" and "Yeah!" greeted his question.

"I thought so," he said. He flung the door open to let in a veritable swarm of waiters and chefs. The waiters began to sing and dance, spinning every other bench to create restaurant booths, complete with tables that popped up between. The warm smell of gourmet cocoa filled the car. The conductor hacked and yowled into the P.A. mike, clearly enjoying himself.

I took the mug placed in front of me and just snuggled it in my hands for a moment, enjoying the heat and scent. The moment I sipped, my aches began to subside. I drank the whole thing quickly in spite of myself, craving it's healing, and happily accepted seconds. I savored the rest then, wanting to just enjoy the feeling of bruises fading and welts shrinking.

As quickly as they had come, the waiters vanished, resetting the benches and leaving no evidence that they had been there, save for a dozen full bellies and the sensation of being whole snaking through my bones. The conductor, too, left the carriage, and we were left entirely without adult supervision.

"Ah!" the girl in front of us sighed. She flopped around to face us. "That was decent enough cocoa, I suppose."

I choked. "Decent?" I asked. "You suppose?" Between my dad's inability to hold down a decent job and his expensive addictions, we barely had money for essentials. I was lucky to get Swiss Miss on special occasions, never mind any kind of cocoa that didn't have a chemical aftertaste. If she was implying that she got better than this on a regular basis…

"I'm Kay, by the way," the girl said. "Hey, want to see something cool?" She pulled out her unpunched ticket and folded it until it resembled a butterfly. Then, she opened the window and held the creation up to the breeze. The wings flapped, and it _was_ neat, but the train was going too fast, and the wind was too strong.

"I don't think that's a great idea," Ron said, beating me to the words, but it was too late. Kay lost her grip on the little butterfly, and it whisked out the window and away.

My eyes widened in horror. Ron covered his mouth. Kay stared for a second, then flipped her hair.

"It doesn't matter," she scoffed, shutting the window. "I can just get another."

Well, the tickets _had_ arrived magically in our pockets, but it seemed awfully presumptive to think it would happen twice.

We waited in tense silence for a few minutes, and after a moment I could feel Ron's hand drift tentatively across the bench. I wished I could let him comfort me, but I wasn't ready for the contact.

When the conductor came into the car again, we jumped. He was frowning at Kay, and when she turned, he said "Young lady, I believe I have neglected to punch your ticket."

Kay tossed her head. "My ticket flew out the window," she announced.

The conductor flushed. "It what?"

"I wanted to see it fly," she said cavalierly. "But you'll just get me another."

The conductor grew redder and redder. _"You lost your ticket?!"_ he exploded, and my skin began to crawl, my muscles tightening reflexively. I grabbed suddenly for Ron's hand, where it was still waiting on the seat between us, and he squeezed gently.

"These tickets are irreplaceable!" The man was bellowing, and Kay had risen, too, indignance all over her.

"That's ridiculous!" she screamed. "They're magic. They just appear. So make another one appear!"

"That's not how the magic works," gasped the conductor. "You're coming with me," he added suddenly, straightening.

"I refuse!" Kay screeched. "I deserve a new ticket. Now give me one!"

"You deserve no such thing," the conductor snapped. "You were given one ticket, and you lost it. Now come." He grabbed Kay's arm, like he had when he'd dragged her in to the carriage, but this time he was dragging her out. The back. Alone.

My stomach clamped, and I nearly retched at the turn of events. I started to shake.

"What if he starts to hurt her," I whispered, because that was all I could force out.

Immediately, Ron cupped my hand in both of his, trying to stop my trembling with the least contact possible. I kept feeling worse, though, unable to calm myself down.

"Window," I croaked, and Ron was up in an instant, yanking down the sash. I climbed up to throw my head out into the fresh, cold air, and something slapped into my face. I snatched it. There, in my hand, was Kay's ticket.

I practically fell backwards into Ron. "Ticket!" I gasped, waving it. Ron jumped up into the isle, peering out the door, but the conductor was long gone.

"Sorry Raich," he said. "We'll have to wait until the next time he comes around."

But I couldn't wait. Kay may have been annoying, and asking for all kinds of trouble, but I couldn't let anyone else go through what I'd been enduring for the past three years. That was why I'd gotten on the train in the first place, after all.

So I shook my head. "No. I'm going after them," I insisted. I began to walk toward the back of the train. I'd just reached the door when I heard Ron sigh.

"I'm not going to let you go alone," he said.

I turned. Ron was the best friend in all the world, but I didn't want to put him in danger.

"You don't have to." I tucked the ticket into my boot.

"No." Ron clenched his fists. "I don't protect you as much as I want to. The least I can do is come with you now."

My heart swelled in appreciation for my friend. I didn't deserve him, I thought. He certainly didn't deserve me. But I was glad to have him; so I smiled. He came over to me and took my hand, eyes serious.

Strengthened, I opened the door, and we stepped out into the cold together.


	7. Chapter 7

***wordlessly drops a chapter after an 11.5 month hiatus***

* * *

 _Up on the housetop reindeer pause  
_ _Out jumps good old Santa Claus.  
_ _Down through the chimney, with lots of toys,  
_ _All for the little ones' Christmas joys._

We got to the back of the train, but there was no sign of Kay or the conductor. I frowned, wondering where they could have gone. Ron, meanwhile, was poking around curiously. When he found a ladder on the side of the caboose, it just seemed natural that we climb it. Before we did, I slid Kay's ticket into my left boot, next to mine.

The roof was cold and slick, but I was surprised to find it easy to walk along after a few seconds' acclimation. The cold, harsh wind made me feel alive and calmed the turmoil in my chest. Ron and I trudged into the stinging snow, following what appeared to be a light ahead. I was expecting to catch up with the conductor, but when the light came into focus, it turned out to be a campfire, with a grungy man tending it.

Instantly, I was on alert. Something about this screamed danger, and years of having my senses painfully honed didn't make me eager to ignore the feeling. Ron, however, had no such qualms. He stepped closer, curiously, until the man noticed us.

"Are you lost?" the man asked.

"We're looking for a girl," Ron said.

"It looks like you found one," the man observed.

"No." Ron shook his head. "We're looking for someone else. Have you seen her?"

"Please, she might be in trouble," I put in. Immediately, my heart leapt onto my tongue. I swallowed hard. I hated bringing attention to myself. Sure enough, his eyes slid over to me, looking me up and down.

"Ain't we all," he drawled after a moment.

I wished my knife was up my sleeve, where I could reach it surreptitiously. Keeping my eyes trained on the man, I knelt on my right knee, careful to keep my movements slow and non-threatening. While my right hand drifted behind me to ease the knife from boot to sleeve, my left hand moved distractingly to pull Kay's ticket from it's place with my own.

"We have her ticket," I said.

The man's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, lookie here," he began, reaching out for it. Before he could grab it, though, I snatched it back, tucking it away again.

"That is a genuine ticket to ride," he finished, eyeing me anew. "You've got the right idea, kid. That's the best place to keep your valuables." I didn't like the way he smiled at me as he said it, as if he knew just what kind of valuables I might keep in a boot.

"Where are my manners," he exclaimed when I'd stood again, blade safely in my sleeve. "Sit! How about a nice hot cup of joe?"

Whatever was in the cups, I didn't want any part of it, but it was nice to have a warm place to wrap my fingers.

"You know," he said when he poured us both a cup, "I wouldn't have taken it. I don't need a ticket. I can ride this rattler whenever I please. I own this here train, after all. You could even say I'm the King of this train. In fact, I'm the King of the North Pole!"

As he let his voice deepen dramatically, I rolled my eyes. It was obvious he loved saying that. I was normally pretty good at detecting hogwash when I heard it, but I couldn't get a read on this guy.

"Wouldn't that be Santa?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I was proud of myself for not visibly flinching at the name.

"You mean this guy?" he pulled a red and white hat from his jacket and put it on. "Ho ho h…" He choked on a bit of flying snow. "If it comes to that, I'm the big guy himself."

Anger made my ears rush and my vision blur. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my lie detector was going off, but I couldn't listen to it. This fool had just made himself the center of my hurt, and I wasn't about to let an opportunity pass. I yanked up my sleeve and flipped my knife forward, not even having the time to blink before my arm shot out, hitting him squarely in the stomach.

Squarely, but not… solidly.

There was no resistance where his body should have been. My momentum flung me forward, and I would have fallen if Ron, who had been too slow to stop me, grabbed my shoulders. The strange apparition disappeared in a swirl of mist, along with his campfire. His furniture, with no one to windbreak it, flew off the train. For a moment, we just stared at the empty roof.

I did fall then, and Ron could do nothing but fall beside me, holding me with all his might. The contact, while a little confining, was all that was keeping me together, and it was fast failing to do even that.

I was falling apart, and I was afraid that this time, I would shatter beyond repair.


	8. Chapter 8

**Please be mindful - Trigger warnings for blatant ignoring of touch sensitivity and a severe panic** **attack with no regard for personal safety. And, you know, Murder thoughts.**

 **Thank-yous to** **Shian1998 for reviewing and to Dinosaur Imperial Soldier for following and favoriting!**

* * *

 _Oh ho ho, Who wouldn't go,  
_ _Oh ho ho, Who wouldn't go,  
_ _Up on the housetop quick! quick! quick!  
_ _Down through the chimney with Old Saint Nick!_

I screamed. I shook. I tore at my face and hair. Only Ron's foresight in taking away my knife, sheathing it precariously in his pocket, prevented me from cutting myself in my frenzy.

I realized I was crying only later, when the tears had frozen to my face. Somehow, the feeling grounded me. Ron shifted, so I was cradled in his arms, head pressed against his shoulder. His heartbeat pounded in my ear, nearly in time with my own, both frantic and loud. He rocked, shivering, and smoothed my now wild hair back.

"I couldn't kill him," I croaked, voice raw. The moment the knife had touched the wraithlike figure replayed in my head, and my stomach flipped. "What if I had? What was I thinking? What if I _had_ killed him?"

I sobbed into Ron's shoulder then, letting out all the pain and conflict that had been brewing in my heart. When I had run out of tears, and shuddered against him a few minutes longer, I finally looked up. Tears shone in my friend's eyes as well, helplessness and frustration evident.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and I didn't know exactly what he was sorry for. He didn't seem to know either, and the tears spilled over, down his cheeks.

I reached up and wiped them away. "You have nothing to be sorry for," I whispered. "You're the best friend anyone could ever have. I don't deserve you. Thank you for sticking with me."

"You deserve so much better," Ron said. "On all counts."

We stayed like that for a minute, our hearts calming in tandem, until familiar fingers of panic began to claw across my skin. I wriggled away from Ron. He understood at once, and let go, backing off just enough so we weren't touching.

"I'm sorry I held you," he said. "I was afraid it would make it worse, but I just didn't know how else to stop you from hurting yourself."

"No, you did the right thing." I sat up on my knees and used a handful of snow to scrub the frozen tear tracks from my face.

"Honestly, I can't believe you lasted so long." Ron followed my example, flinching away from the cold snow.

"I can't either." I frowned, wondering what that meant. Ron handed back my knife, and I put it safely back in my boot. Then, I stood, looking around.

"We should probably get moving," I admitted.

 _"_ _Get moving, kids!"_ A harsh, ghostly voice echoed from behind us, scaring Ron straight up onto his feet.

"What do you think you're doing? Having snuggle time? Kids these days." The voice grew closer. I supposed I should have guessed it would be the hobo, although why he didn't seem angry that I had just tried to murder him - or even address the fact - I didn't know.

He was pulling a large, old-fashioned wooden toboggan, and seemed to be struggling to pull it uphill, making me realize that we were, indeed, headed up an incline.

"Hop in, kids," he said, stopping next to us and tossing back the cord. "We don't have much time."

"Time for what?" asked Ron, subtly moving to put himself between the grungy man and me.

"To get off the roof, of course," the hobo replied, a little impatiently. "We've got to make a beeline to the bowling alley. It's our only hope."

"Why the hurry?" Ron pressed.

The man let out a sigh to rival all sighs. "In one mile, we will reach Flat Top Tunnel," he said.

"Oh," I breathed, because I could already guess how this sentence was ending.

"And there is but one inch of clearance between the roof of this rattler and the top of Flat Top Tunnel."

Ron turned to look at me, and our eyes locked. It was a risk, but we didn't have much of a choice.

We got on the toboggan.

I sat in the front, and Ron sat behind me, so that the man wasn't pressed up against me. It was bad enough having Ron there; whatever magic had let him hold me so long mere minutes ago had faded, and I was back to prickles of panic blossoming everywhere our clothes touched. I took hold of the cord, although no amount of steering would save us if we started to slip off the side. The hobo fit in behind us, and we were ready to go. The only problem was, we were still going uphill.

The sled began to inch backward, and alarm pulsed through me. Ron and I dug our heels in, fighting to keep the sled from going any farther back. For a moment, I was afraid we weren't going to make it, but then the train crested the incline, and I could see for miles in every direction. The view was breathtaking, with wilderness on nearly all sides. I could also see the tunnel, fast approaching at the base of a steep hill.

A hill, though, meant we were saved, and I shoved off with all my might before tucking my feet into the toboggan. Ron did the same, and we were quickly humming along at a thrilling speed down the train's roof.

Ron howled in a roller coaster sort of way, but I just let the wind engulf me, drowning out sight, sound, and feeling. I lifted the sled's nose each time we crossed cars, and we continued to accelerate.

"Now you'll only have one shot at this, so listen closely," the hobo called over the roar. "When I say jump…"

The train's smokestack was suddenly right in front of us, with the tunnel only yards beyond. The toboggan began to dissolve under our legs, and my heart leapt into my throat.

 _"_ _Jump!"_ The wraith was gone again, caught away in the draft. With our momentum still carrying us toward the belching chimney, Ron and I grabbed hands and jumped.


	9. Chapter 9

**Finally a chapter with no trigger warnings!**

 **Merry Christmas Eve and Happy third night of Hanukkah to my readers!**

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 _It seems so long since I could say  
_ _'_ _Sister Susie sittin' on a thistle'  
_ _Gosh, oh gee how happy I'd be  
_ _If I could only whistle!_

We landed in the open-topped coal reserves behind the boiler. For a long moment, the world was a jumbling, tumbling mess of black. Then, we spilled out onto the floor inside the engine, along with a lot of coal dust.

A familiar shriek greeted us as we staggered to our feet and tried to brush off the coal dust.

"How did you get in here? Eww, you're so gross now!" Kay howled from the engineer's stool, where she was perched.

"Kay?" I gasped, and immediately sneezed. "What are you doing here?"

"I guess they finally realized how important I am, and put me in charge of driving." Kay's smug look was enough to make me want to roll my eyes, but I was afraid of getting grit in them.

"Aren't you a little young to be driving?" Ron asked, ruffling his hair and making a cloud of soot spill from it.

Kay huffed. "It's a magic train. Who's going to be checking? The magic police?"

Ron and I glanced at each other, and mutually decided to drop it. We stepped forward, taking in the locomotive controls.

"So, if you're driving," Ron said hopefully, "does that mean you get to blow the whistle?"

Kay smirked, and grabbed a handle in the ceiling. One pull, and we were surrounded by a satisfying _toooooot!_

"Oh man," Ron breathed. "I've always wanted… can I pull it?"

I could tell Kay was going to say no, the selfish look in her narrowed brown eyes as clear as a bell, but Ron deserved to have a turn, so I took that moment to pull my knife from my boot, cleaning it pointedly, with many flourishes.

Kay's eyes flicked between Ron, who had stepped ahead of me and couldn't see what I was doing, and the blade.

"I guess," she said apathetically, turning away.

Ron trembled with excitement as he reached for the handle, pausing just a moment before pulling.

 _Toooooot!_

He clapped his hands in joy. "Raich, you have to try it!" he squealed.

I didn't have a burning desire to make a loud noise, but since it would make Ron happy, I stepped closer and took a turn.

 _Toooooot!_

The feeling was surprisingly cathartic, as if the train were screaming into the void in my place. A tiny grin snuck onto my lips.

"Yeah, well, you both had a turn, so-" Kay angled herself importantly around the controls, making it clear our turns were over.

Ron continued to study the controls. Distantly, I heard him ask Kay where the engineer was, and heard her say something about emergency maintenance, but I was beginning to lose contact with the world. I went over to the open window. The space was quite warm, despite the cold rushing in, due to the massive fire raging. I threw my head out into the wild wind, breathing in and letting the flurry calm me.

It was because of this that I heard the the engineer calling from up front. Even then, it was a moment before I realized what he was saying.

"We need to stop the train!" I said, pulling my torso back inside.

"Which one's the brake?" asked Ron.

Kay hesitated. Only for a second, but I didn't miss it. "The red one, obviously," she said. "The one that looks like a brake."

"Are you sure?" I asked, because this wasn't the kind of thing you could fake.

Kay bristled. "Of course I'm sure, don't be ridiculous," she snapped. She pulled the red lever.

A horrible grinding sound assaulted our ears. The train started to speed up. Ron and I looked up in alarm, then wheeled on Kay as one. All the blood drained from Kay's face.

"Kay, what did the engineer say?" Ron asked. "Which lever did the engineer tell you was the brake?"

"I…" Kay choked.

"Kay!" I felt urgency welling up inside me as we accelerated.

"I don't know, ok?" Kay wailed at last. "They were telling me about the controls, but I figured it couldn't be that hard, and tuned them out! I don't know which one's the brake!" She buried her face in her hands, whether in shame, or fear, or to hide tears I couldn't stop to decide.

I turned to Ron, a little desperate. "Do you have any idea what to do?" I knew Ron enjoyed books about machines, and had gone through a locomotive phase last year.

"I could make an educated guess, but…" Ron's eyes were a little wild.

"You have to do it," I decided. The engineer's voice was loud enough to be heard over the rushing wind now, and fringing on panicked.

Ron looked over the controls, studying them, then closed his eyes, as if recalling the page of a book. He moved his hands, tracing connections I barely saw, then grabbed a simple gold lever, pausing only a second to take a deep breath before throwing it.


End file.
